Behind Octavia, upon the porch, and comfortably wrapped in a water-proof cloak, stood Mrs. Artress. Both had thus been watching nearly all the day for the return of the pursuers, and it was now three o’clock of the afternoon, and the dusk was rapidly falling. “They’ve come! They’ve come!” cried Octavia Black hysterically. “They are alone--No; they have got the girl! We are safe--safe!” She came running to meet her husband, who was now in advance of his men. Craven Black briefly informed his wife how and where he had found Neva, and at the porch he took the captive in his own arms, dismissing the three men to the yacht. He carried Neva to her own room, where Celeste was busy at the moment, and he unloosed the cord confining the girl’s arms, setting her free. There was a wood fire blazing on the hearth. Neva, paying no heed to her enemies, crouched down before it. “Leave her to herself,” said Craven Black. “Celeste, you may remain to dress your young lady--” “I will dress myself,” interposed Neva, in a low, weary voice. “I want to be alone.” “Celeste had better dress Octavia,” exclaimed Mrs. Artress abruptly. “Octavia has acted like some cowardly, frightened child all day, Craven. She has stood on the lawn bare headed, in the mist, until she is wet to the skin, and has a fearful cold. She is nearly ill.” “I will have hot drinks prepared immediately,” said Craven Black. “Octavia, you must take a hot bath. Celeste, bring a hot bath to Miss Wynde.” He led the way from the room, the others following. Celeste locked Neva’s door, putting the key in her pocket. Octavia went to her own room, coughing dismally. “Do you hear that?” demanded Mrs. Artress, stopping Craven Black in the hall. “Exercise has prevented any serious harm to Miss Wynde from to-day’s exposure; but Octavia has taken a fearful cold. You’d better nurse her carefully. In your desire to get ten thousand a year more, don’t throw away the four thousand you already have. Remember, if Octavia should die, you and I would be beggars!” “What an infernal croaker you are!” said Black angrily. “It isn’t necessary to twit me with my poverty. As to Octavia, if she’s foolish enough to stand out in a chilling mist out of sheer cowardice, let her cure herself. I am cold and hungry, and I intend to take care of myself.” He proceeded to do so, ministering to his own wants with assiduity. The French woman brought in a hot bath to Neva, and a bowl of steaming hot whisky punch, then hastening away to attend upon her mistress. Neva took her bath, changed her wet garments for dry ones, drank her punch, and went to bed. A free perspiration was induced, and the fever that had threatened her subsided, her pulse beat evenly, and her brain grew cool. She went to sleep, and did not awaken until late in the evening. When she opened her eyes, Mrs. Artress was standing at her bedside, feeling her pulse. “How do you feel?” demanded the woman, her ashen eyes surveying the girl insolently.